


How to Turn Assassins into Allies

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Series: Winning is Easy; Governing's Harder [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Aeron Tabris, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His name is Nathaniel Howe, and Aeron Tabris thinks he’d be a perfect fit for the Wardens--even if he <i>did</i> just try to kill her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Turn Assassins into Allies

According to the guard, the lone man currently sitting chained up in the jail cell ( _her_ jail cell, some part of her mind corrects, as this is now her Keep to run as she sees fit) was captured while sneaking in three days ago. It took four of the Wardens to bring him down, but not before he grievously injured a few. Even now, they suspect he might simply have allowed himself to be caught in order to achieve whatever goal brought him here in the first place.

“The seneschal was waiting on your arrival before doing anything further with him,” the guard adds.

Aeron nods slowly, studying the prisoner carefully. “Do you know his name, at least?”

The guard shakes his head. “He refuses to speak. Stubborn one, he is.”

Or perhaps just waiting for the right person. The structure of his face is strikingly familiar, though Aeron is certain they have never met. The angry, hateful look in his eyes has neither softened nor left her direction since she entered the little prison to investigate this matter. It is nothing like the battle rage of darkspawn or the glint of greed in the average traveling bandit. Whoever this man is, he knows the Warden-Commander enough to well and truly hate her. It might prove beneficial to find out why. For all she knows, she might even deserve it.

“Leave us.”

The guard blinks. “Are you certain, Commander?”

“I’m not alone,” Aeron reminds him. “If he tries anything, I’m certain my friends here will make him regret that, barring that I don’t get to first.”

Oghren chuckles. “Haven’t changed a single bit, have ya, Warden? Ah, it does me proud.”

“I…” The guard nods. “Very well, Commander. I will inform the seneschal that you are here. Surely, he will be over to hear what your intentions are for this man.”

The silence that follows the guard’s departure is thick. The chains rattle as the man in the cell rises to his feet. His hateful look has not abated.

“Well, well,” he says, “if it isn’t the great hero herself, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil, come to visit me. I must say, I am a mite disappointed. Shouldn’t you be taller? Firing lightning from your eyes?”

“So he _can_ speak. That should certainly make things easier for you,” Anders offers from his perch in the corner.

“My reputation precedes me, then,” says Aeron.

“Oh, it does,” answers the prisoner. “It most certainly does, though I know you best as the woman who murdered my father.”

“Your father?”

He squares his shoulders. “My name is Nathaniel Howe, son of the man who once controlled these lands.”

All at once, it clicks into place. The familiarity, the reason for the hateful look—

“You’re Rendon Howe’s son.”

Oghren perks. “Howe? The one who kidnapped the queen?”

“Among other injustices,” Aeron confirms.

“Ahh, so you _do_ remember my father! Maker be _praised_. That’s certainly more than I expected of you,” Nathaniel says. “My father was a hero—a _real_ hero, who fought with Loghain to drive the Orlesians out. We were respected in these lands. After you came along with your little…crusade, after you murdered him, my family lost everything. Our wealth, our reputation…some of us our lives…”

“So you came to repay the favor in kind, then? Reclaim your honor by slaying the one who stole it from you?” The Elf crosses her arms. She stares him down, unintimidated. “Your father made his choices. I would have been happy enough to put him in one of the cells not packed with innocent people, but as I recall, he seemed not so keen on the idea.”

“And so you made the choice to slaughter him where he stood, and we have paid the worst for it.” A disgusted sound rises from the back of his throat. “Yes. I came here to kill you. I even planned to lay a trap for you to gain the advantage. Then I actually arrived.”

“And what changed?”

“I’m willing to guess it had something to do with a group of angry Wardens ready to break him in half,” Oghren interjects.

“I just wanted my things,” Nathaniel says tersely.

Aeron tilts her head. “Your things?”

“Surely, your little tin men haven’t gone and tossed everything of my family’s into the nearest ditch, have they? Give me their belongings and let me go.”

It is an interesting prospect, and Aeron has the answer she wanted. Still, she has trouble believing that someone with as much anger in his eyes as this man would be willing to abandon his initial purpose so easily and leave so quietly.

“How much do you actually know of what your father was doing in Denerim for Loghain?”

Now Nathaniel is the one to cross his arms. The anger in his eyes momentarily gives way to offense tinted with pride. “I was squired in the Free Marches, nowhere near him when he did what he did. News of his actions came after, when I returned and found my family branded as barely worth the dirt beneath a peasant’s feet by the very country that once celebrated his victories.

“I won’t pretend that he was right, or that innocent people didn’t suffer under his actions,” he adds. “Nor will I begrudge your status as hero—you fought your war, you won, and to the victor go all the spoils—but you cannot ignore the consequences of your actions any more than my father tried. Those of us who are left suffer thanks to you, and now you get to decide my fate. What wonderful irony.”

Aeron frowns a little. She steps away from the cell, smart enough to lock it shut before taking the daring decision to turn away as she ponders his words. True, she could let him hang and consider the matter finished. On the other hand, he managed to outlast several trained Wardens before succumbing himself—and they _are_ , regrettably, rather short on numbers…

She steps towards the cell door. “They told me they have reason to believe you a man of many skills. Are they right?”

Nathaniel scoffs. “Certainly, I have my training—hunting, scouting, the creation of poisons—but what is that to do with the price of soil in Orzammar?”

“I was simply thinking,” answers the Warden-Commander, “that a man with drive enough to hunt me down might also have drive enough to restore his own name.”

Another scoff. “Oh, yes, certainly; perhaps I will go right away and see Queen Anora about a position in her army. No doubt, she will only be too overjoyed to count another Howe among her ranks!”

The corners of Aeron’s lips tick upward. She is about to respond with her offer when the guard at last returns with Seneschal Varel at his side. Perfect timing. He might not like what she has to suggest, but on the other hand—

“Commander,” says Varel, “have you been able to speak with him?”

Aeron nods. “I have. Did you know he is the son of Rendon Howe?”

Surprise flickers across the older man’s face. “Is he? I suppose it figures as much. The Howes are implacable in all things; always have been. They would make a dangerous enemy if given the chance, Commander.”

“So I’ve been hearing. However…I’m not certain I’m completely comfortable with sending him to the gallows. There’s no point to it.”

“So I am to be shown mercy instead? How very gracious a gesture from the Hero of Ferelden! Certainly, I shall light a candle for you in Andraste’s name,” Nathaniel interrupts.

“I wouldn’t go striking the match just yet.” Aeron turns to Varel. “I wish to invoke the Right of Conscription.”

The shock in the room comes from two directions. Varel blinks. The anger in Nathaniel’s face is momentarily replaced with a look that questions the Warden-Commander’s sanity.

“No,” he says, “absolutely not! I refuse! Hang me instead!”

Aeron raises an eyebrow. “So you would rather dangle by the neck instead of trying to regain your squandered dignity, then? I could arrange that—”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because regardless of what you might think, I would rather not add to my body count. Besides, you have skills that make you useful; I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Howe, but we’re a bit low on useful individuals around here.”

“Ahh, so it’s a matter of desperate necessity.” Nathaniel crosses his arms. “What about my trying to kill you? It doesn’t bother you that one of your Wardens might want to see you dead?”

“Don’t flatter yourself thinking you’re the first,” Aeron answers. “Some of my best friends have wanted me dead.”

Varel and the guard look at her oddly. Oghren’s laughter is like the rumble of thunder. “I wish she was joking.”

Aeron focuses only on the prisoner in her cell. “What’s your answer? I could force you, but that has never been my habit. Better someone makes a wrong decision under their own power than have a right one made for them.”

“Hmph. I hardly see how I have much choice in the matter, as failing the Joining also means my death.” The young Howe sighs, drops his arms in resignation. “But very well. Bring me the chalice. Let us see if fate will be as gracious as you are.”


End file.
